Westlands
by Cyberdrew
Summary: In a Fantasy world ravaged by war, a Hunter finds an unusual boy wandering the wastes. As she tries to figure out what to do with him, a brutal force washes through the town and decimates it to find him.
1. Chapter 1

_ **I have no idea what brought this madness on. Borrowing elements of the common Western and blending it with Tolkein elements (and a dash of Lovecraft). If this sort of thing interests you, i hope to hear from you. **_

_**The Loud family is a bit disbanded, having different roles than a family unit would. **_

_**Enjoy.**_

* * *

The plains of the Westlands rolled onwards and outwards perpetually. No one could possibly predict what appears over the next hill. Its eternity was filled with blood and teeth and turmoil.

Oh, and sand.

Literally all that's here.

With a gruff sigh, the young woman surveyed the land around her. Not a cactus, nor a dead thing as far as the eye could see.

Well, there was a crow cawing somewhere in the distance.

"Hmm…" she wondered out loud. "On the right path…"

She hopped off the horse. Stomping around the sand. The hat acted as a shield against the sun's brutal heat, as did her gloves and boots against the sands. Her blue blouse had the strap of a rifle running across its torso. Her trousers aren't what some would say "fashionable" for a lady like her.

And she would shoot the tips of their toes, with the revolver and bullets that hung off her hip.

"Wide and open area…" she worded her thoughts listlessly. All the while, she stomped around in a slow circle. "So where… is…"

She stopped in her tracks.

"The monster…" she looked around. The cawing stopped suddenly.

The ground shifted around her. Sand ruptured and something lashed out at her: an arm bigger than she was wrapped around her middle and hoisted her off the ground. Another arm grabbed her horse.

As the arm flailed her around through the air, and she lost sight of her hat, she saw more of the ground split open underneath her. A writhing mass of yellow eyes and teeth moaned as she was held tightly above it.

Apparently, the thing preferred a larger meal than a skinny thing like her. The horse whinnied and cried as two of the tentacles held it over the abomination's gaping maw.

Lori, for the sake of not getting sick, chose not to look as the horse was dropped and devoured.

Gods, the noises are enough stave of sleep for more than a few weeks.

While the creature was preoccupied, she reached for the rifle over her shoulder. As she pulled on it, she realized the arm of the abomination had wrapped around the gun as well.

That left her with a tiny revolver against a massive monster ready to tear her to shreds.

None of those bullets are going to kill it. Unless...

It was a dumb idea to try this. But the way she figured, no one would know but the monster.

She pulled the iron free from its holster and emptied all but one bullet. It's the worst trick she knew, but it was the only chance she's going to survive. She brought the largely empty cylinder to her lips and whispered her wish.

"_Ianus Bifrons: My life or the Abomination. One out of six. One shot_."

With that, the markings within the cylinder glowed with a celestial blue hue. She locked it in the chamber, spun it, and took aim. He seemed to like it when odds weren't her favor.

The Abomination seemed to notice her at last. It eyed her gluttonously. Lori pulled the hammer back.

"Here goes nothing," she muttered.

She fired her pistol.

* * *

The doors swung open as Lori Loud made her presence known. The patrons of the pub gave pause and looked back, staring in disbelief, as the girl in trousers, covered head to toe in blue and purple blood, stood in the doorway. It dripped from her hat as she sauntered between the tables.

The girl was already tired and was in no mood for harassment.

"What the hell's a girl like you doing in the business of Huntin'?" One man stood in her way. "Pretty thing like you would make a purty wife now…"

Lori paused, taking a few shallow breathes under her hat.

"Flip," she called across the hall. "You here?"

A timid enough "Yes" could be heard across the room.

"Would you tell this kind gentleman what you asked me some months ago?"

"I… I asked why you wasn't married, yet."

"And what was my answer?"

"You…you shot me," he answered, "my pecker's clean off! Doc couldn't do nothing…"

"Right…" Lori looked up from under her hat. The man looked a little paler than before. "And that was when I was in a good mood.

"Look at me," she told the man. "I am covered in demon puck. My horse died, so I had to _walk_ all the way back into town. Do I look- eyes here, bucko- Do I _look like_ I'm in the mood for this?"

The man coughed. Then he cleared his throat.

"Then sit down," Lori instructed. "And lose your gamble with your silly card games."

The man sat down, giving a worried look over his shoulder as she passed by, and a sympathetic look to Flip across the tables.

Lori sat at the bar, sighing loudly.

"Miss Loud," the bartender greeted. "You always make an entrance."

"It can't be helped, Mr. Santiago," she smiled at him.

"You could help the mess your making on my counter," he lightly chastised.

She shrugged. "Had to pick up my payment first. Before some greedy goblin tried to claim at his."

"You probably had time to bathe," Roberto suggested.

"Is that an invitation?" she leaned forward.

"A desperate plea," he laughed. He lowered his voice. "Speaking of which. Do you have to use Flip like that?"

"What?" Lori put her hands up. "He doesn't mind. A little white lie doesn't hurt anybody."

"Keep telling yourself that, _Senora_," he reached under the counter. "You have the proof of a successful hunt?"

"Call it P.O.S.H., Roberto," Lori shook her head as she fished the item from her belt. She set the bottle on the counter. "Everyone else does."

Roberto took vial of fresh monster blood and swirled it in the light. He shook his head.

"Nini!" he called out, "Another delivery for the post!"

A little girl appeared around the corner, gliding across the floor on a board of some shape. She called it a "Ground Glider."

"Right away, boss," she took the vial and pushed onto her board without another word. She was such a cute little girl.

Lori sighed. "Mr. Santiago, when are you going to get me one of those?"

"When you stop hunting critters long enough for me to marry you," he answered with a earnest smile. He set a bag off coins within her reach. "Now go clean yourself. For godsakes!"

* * *

Lori approached the two-story cabin. A house much too big for all her lonesome. It was getting late, and she barely had the energy to stop by the butcher's. Tonight's special is Jackalope stew. Again.

She opened the door and sighed. What an empty house she had.

Oop. Wait. There come the footsteps.

"Lori!" a young boy's face split into a grin as he descended the stairs. "You're back!"

"Yup," she groaned. "I'm back."

She sighed. "You hungry?"

He nodded. "Uh-huh!"

He blinked at her, seemingly realizing something.

"Uh," he suggested. "Maybe I'll cook dinner tonight. You need…"

"A bath," Lori agreed. She handed him the two rodents. "You think you can handle that?"

"Yeah," the boy made a face. "Yeah. Sure. I can handle it. Look at me. Handling this."

He stared at the antlered rabbits for a minute. Lori rolled her eyes.

"Give me a few minutes, and I'll help you," She patted his head, but only after removing the messy glove from her hand. She made her way to the bath. "Little brat."

As she shed her layers of clothes and settled into the basin of warm water, she contemplated her current… situation.

She was out Hunting, as always, and she came across the starving, ragged form of a little boy trying to cross the desert. He was muttering some nonsense under his breath, clutching a book to his chest.

Course, that wasn't his most distinguishing feature.

Bright eyes. Silver hair. The boy has elf blood in him.

And halflings aren't supposed to be out on their own. They're all regulated to the cities, watched over by the elven guard.

Whatever the boy's story was, he wouldn't say. Lori thought she'd watch over him, nurse him back to health, then send word to some city authority to pick him up.

Except he's now at full strength, and he seems completely contempt to stay here with her. It's been a number of weeks, and he still isn't talking. He new enough that he shouldn't be seen by common folk. That's an invite to trouble they don't need.

Well, he gave her his name, at least.

Lincoln.

Like that rights activist some years ago.

"Ah!" a young voice echoed through the cabin. "Uh…! Lori?! I need a little help!"

With a sigh, Lori got out, having barely enough time to rid herself of the gunk. She wrapped a robe around herself and hurried to the kitchen.

"The hell's going on here?" she called out. The stove flame erupted higher than it should ever rise.

A few minutes- and a lot of shouting- later, they managed to smother fire. The young woman looked at the boy.

"Better yet," she suggested, "Let me pull on some sleepwear. And _then_, I'll help you with dinner."

"Okay," he nodded, taking a breath. "Maybe teach me a water spell? Just in case?"

"Not on your life." She slumped off towards her room.

Too exhausted to cook, but setting out to do it anyways. Some hour later, with a full belly, the older girl hit her head on the pillow and fell asleep.

With magic being outlawed, it was nice to have someone to talk to about it.


	2. Chapter 2

Visions of torment flashed through her mind.

Stop… Don't go. Stop it. Mom. Daddy. Where are you going…?

"Where are you!" Lori lunged forward, heaving for breath.

She was in her bed. In her skivvies. With the boy standing next to her with wide eyes.

"I, uh," he stammered. "I got the eggs from the cockatrice hen house. I was going to make us breakfast."

Lori nodded.

"That's…" she sighed. "Thank you, Lincoln. I'll be along in a moment."

The boy scurried out of the room. He had changed from his own skivvies, back to the humble brown robes wrapped around his arms and chest. The trousers complete the look of a monk with free range of motion.

Actually, perhaps that subtle brown might be more of a different shade of a color Lori couldn't think to identify.

Honestly, the more Lori gave thought to the boy, the more questions she got. Every detail seemed to defy her puzzled mind.

Getting dressed was a short chore, and walking downstairs to the kitchen gave a sight of small delight.

"Almost done!" Lincoln called from the stove. He was stirring the green yolks into a fluff. "At least, I think."

"They're done," Lori assured the boy, looking over his shoulder. "Actually, you're burning them."

"Oh!"

With a little help, he managed to scrape the batch of eggs across the two plates. The two sat at the table across from each other, enjoying the meal in silence.

"So…" Lincoln disturbed the silence. "Whose house is this, anyways?"

Lori gave him a confused look, and eventually answered, but not without taking another bite.

"It's my house," she answered.

"No, I mean," he clambered. "This house is so big, with so many rooms that you don't use. Who built this place?"

Lori paused to think it over.

"It's my parents house," she finally answered. "I guess they wanted a big family."

"Where are they now?"

Lori didn't answer. Instead, she took another bite of eggs.

"These eggs are good," she complimented. "I hope you're not getting cabin fever while you're in here."

"Not really," Lincoln shrugged. "I mean, I was kind of hoping I'd get to go outside and see the town."

"Well," the woman answered, "If you opened up a little more, and tell me what your intention is, I could introduce you to the town slowly."

"Yeah…" Lincoln seemed to shy away. Then he changed the subject. "Oh, hey! I was reading the other day, and I was wondering: I know what elves look like, but I haven't seen any "dark elves" anywhere. Where'd they go?"

Lori made a disgusted sound. She had to let go of the fact he was dodging the question.

"If you keep reading that book," she warned, "Your brains going to start leaking out of your ears. Elves are extremely old, and even more vain. When they come across a fellow magical species, they immediately compare it to themselves. Who did they contact first?"

"The… dwarven dens?" Lincoln guessed.

"Right," Lori agreed. "And they live underground, in the dirt and darkness, right?"

"Right…"

"So if you're a vain Elf and you see this crystal mining cave dweller, with dark skin but just as much magical potential as you, then..."

"You'd call him a… Dark Elf…" Lincoln seemed to realize. "Oh."

"Yep," Lori nodded.

"That's really messed up."

"Uh-huh."

Another moment passed. Lori mulled over the information she gathered.

"So that book must have been published- or written- by the elves," Lori surmised, "And not recently. And not for public viewing."

Lincoln's face froze up. He expression asked, "_How did you figure that out_!?"

"Look," Lori set down her fork. "I like you, kid. A lot. And I don't mind helping you and playing den mother for you. But you can't stay in here forever. You can't just _stay_ a secret forever. Someone is going to find you. And they might not be as morally obligated as I am."

Lincoln pushed around the little egg left on his plate.

"Let me help you," Lori implored him. "Give me…something. I know you're a half-elf, and I know you're running from something. Or someone."

"If I talk…" he timidly asked. "Will you teach me magic?"

Lori arched an eyebrow. Okay. He's a businessman. Must be that elven half in him.

"What little I know," Lori agreed. "Now spill."

Lincoln took a breath.

"I'm…looking for my parents," he answered. "I don't know anything about them, but..."

"They're an elf, and a human?"

"Right," He nodded. "I mean, maybe? I mean, I know some halflings are, like, second gen? Like, uh, what's the word for it...?"

"Legacy children."

"Right!"

Lori nodded in understanding. After the war with the Dark Lord and his Red-Eyed-Beast, the villain had one last trick up his sleeve. The beast's corpse rendered the vast majority of elves were rendered sterile. Of course, the elves- in all their compassion- banished the infected and started a repopulation program before giving any thought to restoring anything else. The result is a lot of "Halflings" and a lot of "Purebloods." Technically any Half-elf is treated with full elven citizenship and is mandatorily given the complete history of half of their people. Some humans still have a little elven blood in them, and it shows up in future children or grandchildren. People call them "Legacies."

Personally, Lori thinks all the elves _should _have been wiped out in that war. What good are they serving now that its over?

Back on subject.

"So you think its possible that both your parents are human?" Lori guessed.

"Yeah," the boy rubbed the back of his head.

"Any clues?"

"No," he shook his head. "All I got are their names."

He shrank in his chair. "And I don't even know if I can rely on _that_ much."

Lori looked on at the dour boy. She stood, picking up her empty plate.

"Come on," she ordered. "Let's clean these up. And then I'll teach you some magic."

* * *

Lincoln sat hunched over a mess of ropes, trying to untangle them.

"How is this magic, exactly?" he asked his mentor.

"The way I see it," Lori lectured, "Every day you live out here is magic. Every trick or lesson you learn that lets you live another day is magic. Today, that's tying knots."

"Yeah, but…" Lincoln pulled at another knot. "I thought we'd be chucking fireballs or something."

"The first lesson is survival," Lori promised. "If you can survive 24 hours in the wilds of the Westlands, I'll teach you what I know about the mystical stuff."

Lincoln thought it over, before pulling the rope free of itself and sighing.

"Well," he said, "Sounds fair. When are we going out?"

"Not until I can get us some horses," Lori sighed. "Not to mention an iron for your hip."

A crash rang out through the yard, followed by the clucking of cockatrice hens. The two ran towards it, rounding the house to see a bright hound with four bright, bushy tails flipping about.

"You left the gate to the pen open!" Lori complained. She pulled her gun out and took aim.

"Sorry! I'll get it out!" Lincoln volunteered. He rushed forward in front of Lori.

"No, don't-!" she lifted her gun. She can't shoot it when he's in the way!

The boy entered then pen, spooked the fox, making it run away. He chased after it with a youthful, boyish vigor.

"Yeah, you better run!" he called after it.

"Easy, killer," Lori holstered her weapon. "He got the message."

Lincoln smiled at her and turned back to watch the fox look back at them, examining.

The boy spotted a rock, and had the obvious thought to throw it.

He ran out a little further, scooping up the stone and reeling his arm back to throw it.

Of course, the fox was long gone before the rock had ever left his fingers.

"Beat it already!" he called out again, still high off of the adrenaline.

He felt something. A pressure, on his leg. He looked down and saw the head of a viper over the leg of his pants.

"Lincoln!" he heard Lori's voice, however distant. The landscape around them seemed to fade, or swirl.

"Oh…" he muttered, as his legs gave out. The snake let go, and tried to slither away.

Lori pulled her pistol and shot it, leaving the animal dead in the sand.

"Dammit," she cursed. She scooped the boy in her arms. "Lincoln? Dammit, Lincoln!"

She turned around and ran. She ran with everything she had. She had to get back to town.

If it meant the boy would live, she had to get him to town.


End file.
